


A Fine Mess

by Moit



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Examination, Mpreg, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-29
Updated: 2010-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:42:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2886869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After taking a walk, a pregnant Frodo finds himself at the mercy of a camp of rangers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [claudia603](https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/gifts), [lilybaggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybaggins/gifts).



> This is dedicated to claudia603 and lilybaggins who love interrogation and Frodo being medically examined by Aragorn. This was _intended_ to be a one-shot, but my muse grew horns this afternoon and decided it would be much more fun if it went farther.

Frodo struggled futilely against the bonds holding his wrists behind his back. A fine mess he’d gotten himself into this time. He looked around the tent the man had left him in. Nothing at all, save for the table separating his chair from the one facing it. He’d been in here for the better part of an hour, he was sure. The heat didn’t help the light-headed nauseous feeling. He struggled not to let himself pass out. He could only imagine what the man would do if he came back and found Frodo unconscious.

Frodo tilted his head back on the chair, the closest he was going to get to comfortable in this position. His feet were luckily left unbound, but it did little to alleviate the pain in his back. If he would have just stayed home, he would be laying down for his afternoon nap, instead of tied up like a fugitive at the hands of a ranger.

The very ranger who entered with two more rangers in tow.

Frodo gulped his eyes wide with fear.

“Yeh weren’ kiddin’, Bareth. ‘e is a pretty little thing, inn’he? Shame ‘e’s in the way of a lass.”

The other newcomer smacked him in the back of the head. “‘e’s just fat, yeh dolt.”

The man that took Frodo—Bareth—glanced back at them. “Yeh’re both daft. ‘e’s up the duff. Male of their kind can bear young. Now, shut up ‘till I need yeh.”

The other two stood silent as Bareth dropped himself into the empty chair.

Frodo wished desperately he had the use of his hands so he could at least attempt to cover his pregnant belly. He was only halfway through, but the bulge was still obvious.

Bareth reached across the table and jerked the gag out of Frodo’s mouth. The hobbit winced at the rough treatment. Wisely, however, he stayed silent.

Bareth leaned forward, splaying his large hands across the surface of the table. “What were yeh doin’ beyond the boundary of yer own lands, hobbit? Did yeh think we wouldn’ capture a spy if’n ‘e was with child? Who sent yeh?”

“No one,” Frodo answered, shaking his head. “I was only out for a walk, I swear!”

“‘e’s lying,” one of the men standing said. The other one hushed him.

“And yeh just so ‘appened to wander pas’ our camp? Who sent yeh?”

“Nobody sent me. I was just out for a walk!”

Bareth leaned back in his chair. “What’s yer name, little one?”

“Frodo. Frodo Baggins.”

“Frodo Baggins, yer rather far from home fer just a walk. Are yeh lost? Thought yeh migh’ jus’ take what yeh needed from us?”

I’m not a thief.”

“A liar, at the least. Yeh can’ even give us a good reason for strayin’ out of yer land. Yeh do realise yeh b’came subject to our laws once yeh left the safety of the Shire. Yer not goin’ anywhere ‘till yeh tell us what we wan’a know.”

The emotion started to bubble in Frodo’s chest. He knew it was the hormones, but he couldn’t help himself. He clenched his teeth as his eyes filled with tears.

“Awwwe, yeh’ve broken ‘im already!”

“Stolis,” Bareth growled. Then to Frodo, “Tears’ll get yeh nowhere, Frodo Baggins. Now, I don’ wan’a get angry. What were yeh doin’ skulin’ ‘round our camp?”

Frodo blinked and the tears cascaded down his pale cheeks. He twisted his hands together, feeling the rope burn his skin away.

“I just walked too far. I was feeling stiff, so I went for a walk, Please, I meant no harm.”

Bareth smacked him sharply across the mouth.

Frodo tasted blood. He turned his head to face the man defiantly.

“You can smack me all you like, but my answers are not going to change.”

As Bareth raised his hand again, a voice from the opening of the tent stopped him.

“Bareth. That will be enough.”

“Strider,” Bareth said, standing. “I din’t realise yeh’d returned.”

“Leave me,” the man called Strider replied.

As Strider entered the tent, the other rangers left.

Frodo ran his tongue over the split in his bottom lip. He eyed the new man warily. With his long dark hair and sword at his hip, he looked even more menacing than the other men. Frodo pressed himself back into the chair as the man advanced, as though it would hide him. The man continued behind Frodo.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. His voice was quiet, but held a hard edge.

“No.”

Frodo felt the cold metal of a knife and his hands were free. He flexed his wrists experimentally, feeling the blood rush back into his hands. He planted his feet on the ground to stand up, but Strider placed a hand on his chest, holding him in place.

“I didn’t say you could go. I would speak with you before I release you. You speak the common tongue, do you not?”

“I do,” Frodo answered, feeling his stomach begin flipping with anxiety. As his nervousness started to increase, he felt the nausea rise again. He swallowed repeatedly, feeling himself begin to salivate.

“What business does a hobbit have beyond the borders of the Shire?”

Frodo leaned forward, cradling his face in his hands. His stomach rolled in protest. “I don’t...” he started before his stomach’s protest won out. He barely had time to lean forward far enough to avoid vomiting on himself. He retched pitifully, emptying the contents of his stomach across the packed dirt floor. He heaved compulsively until there was nothing left.

He sat back in the chair, bracing his arm across his swollen belly, trying to stop his stomach from clenching.

Unnoticed by Frodo, the Ranger had stood up and was now kneeling beside the hobbit with a clean cloth in his hand. “Here, wipe your face. Are you still feeling sick?”

Warily, Frodo took the cloth. He wiped his mouth, but could still taste the acrid bile on his tongue. “I need only a moment.”

“I should take a look at you,” the ranger decided emphatically.

“Please,” Frodo begged. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed. “Just let me go. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’ll need you to lay down so I can ensure you are free from injury.”

Frodo’s protests grew louder as the ranger unceremoniously lifted him and laid him down on the table.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he begged, wrapping his arms around his bulging middle, as the tears coursed down his cheeks. “Please, I’ll tell you anything you want. Just let me go.”

“Hush, now,” Strider said, placing a large hand on each of Frodo’s bent knees. “I will not hurt you. Before I let you go, however, I must first ensure no damage has been done to the babe you carry. What is your name?”

“Frodo Baggins,” the hobbit sighed weakly.

“Right, Frodo, first I’ll need to remove your breeches.”

This sent Frodo into another round of tears. “Don’t, please! I’ll do anything but that! Please, not that!”

He had only been touched by one other male. A hobbit, his lover, his Sam. He couldn’t bear to allow himself to be touched by another, let alone by this ranger—this man who was holding him captive.

But the man placed a hand on his cheek, a gesture which was surely intended to be comforting. “I have no intention of touching you in any sort of sexual manner. As a healer, I wish only to ascertain the truth of your health.”

Frodo’s cheeks coloured. This was certainly not what he expected.

“Please remove your breeches, or I will remove them for you.”

With no other choice, Frodo reached down and unfastened his braces. He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling of the tent as he lowered his breeches past his bottom and kicked them off. Naked from the waist down, he had never felt more vulnerable—or more embarrassed in his life.

I’ve no choice, he kept telling himself, He could cut my throat and then where would Sam be? Heartbroken and childless, that’s where.

Thoughts of his child were the only thing keeping him going.

“Tell me, Master Baggins, where in the Shire are you from?” Strider asked, spreading Frodo’s bare knees.

“Hobbiton,” Frodo ground out, trying not to think about the man staring at his bare skin, places only Sam had seen before.

“Long way from home,” the man murmured, sliding those large hands down the insides of Frodo’s thighs.

Unwittingly, his cock twitched. Frodo’s cheeks burned eve harder and he willed his unruly appendage down.

“When one is bound and thrown atop a horse, he tends to find himself far from home. Do you think I could have walked here in my condition?”

Strider’s browns knitted in concern. “I would find it hard to believe my men would take a hobbit from his home for no reason.” At the same time, two of his (apparently) lubricated fingers pressed into Frodo’s body.

“Ahh!” Frodo gasped, his hips bucking off the table.

“Steady,” the man said, placing his free hand on Frodo’s belly. “I’m just checking to ensure everything feels normal. Just concentrate on answering my questions.”

Frodo resisted a snarky comment about answering questions with a strange man’s fingers up his arse.

Instead he said, “My answers will not change. Your man, Bareth, grabbed me and brought me here. If I am guilty of some transgression, I implore you to tell me what I’ve done so I can correct my error.”

The fingers inside him twisted as Strider pressed down gently on different areas of Frodo’s belly. The hobbit’s cock gave another twitch of appreciation. He glanced down in frustration as it began to swell, uncaring of the completely non-sexual images Frodo was desperately conjuring in his mind.

Bilbo in the bath. Sam’s parents making love. Sam.

Frodo was instantly rock hard. Bugger.

“Are you in fact guilty of something, Master Baggins?” Strider moved his top hand, pressing beneath Frodo’s navel. “Does this hurt?”

“No,” Frodo replied, clenching his hands into fists.

“No you are not guilty, or no you are not in pain?”

“I am not guilty, nor am I in pain. Are you quite finished?”

“Almost, little one.”

The man slid his fingers out of Frodo’s body.

“Everything seems to be in order. I’m sure the sickness was induced by the heat.”

“Brilliant. May I dress now?” Frodo asked, painfully aware of the erection between his nude thighs.

“Just a moment,” the man replied. He smoothed the sweaty curls away from Frodo’s forehead and placed his lips upon the damn skin. “I do not detect a fever. You may cover yourself.”

Strider turned his back to offer Frodo some semblance of privacy.

Frodo pulled his trousers back up and fastened them as quickly as possible. He heaved himself into a sitting position and carefully slid off the table.

“Was that necessary?” he scowled.

Strider turned around once more. “I am sorry, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, but I swore an oath to care for those who are injured.”

Frodo buttoned his weskit, his scowl deepening. “Where does kidnapping and torture fit into your oath?”

“Forgive me,” Strider said, pulling both of the chairs away from the bile on the floor. He took a seat and bid Frodo do the same. “My men and I are responsible for guarding the northern border of your Shire. I was informed earlier by one of my men that a hobbit had been found sneaking around our camp. Would you like to explain how you arrived here?”

“I have already told you, and your men,” he said the last with disdain, “that I was not spying, nor was I sneaking. I was out for a walk when one of your men grabbed me and brought me here. I was bound and gagged, as you found me earlier.” Frodo’s voice had begun to betray his desperation.

At this rate, he would probably never see Bag End again. Or Sam. No—best not think like that.

Strider stood.

“Can I leave you for a moment without binding your hands? I would hate to have to take more extreme measures.”

Frodo could see the gleam of a knife in Strider’s palm.

“I won’t move,” he promised.

Strider gave him a long hard look before he stepped out of the tent.

Frodo counted to 100 before he moved. He hurried across the floor of the tent, pointed ears listening for any sound of Strider returning. Holding his breath, he lifted a corner of the tent and peaked out, his heart hammering in his chest. Seeing no one, he took off as fast as he could toward the line of trees surrounding the camp.

Just as he was about to escape into the safety of the forest, a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder and a sword was at his throat.

“Goin’ somewhere, ‘obbit?”

Frodo’s throat worked convulsively, eyeing the sword.

The man threw him to the ground, and Frodo caught himself on his hands and knees. He lay still, praying the man wouldn’t kill him.

“Yer a pretty little thing, aren’ yeh’?”

Frodo recognised the voice. It was Stolis, one of the men Bareth brought back to the tent with him.

Stolis yanked Frodo’s trousers to his knees and the hobbit knew the worst was to come. The man’s breath was hot against his neck, wicked mouth explaining everything he was about to do. But before he felt the cruel touch, he was pulled to his feet.

“Run, Frodo Baggins,” Strider said, shoving the hobbit towards the forest.

Frodo ran. He dared glance over his shoulder to see Strider fighting Stolis. Still, he ran. He ran until he thought he would collapse from exhaustion.

Weary, he fell to his knees, hot and hungry.

“Frodo Baggins?”

Startled, he looked up into the concerned eyes of his cousin, Merry.

“What are you doing all the way up here? And so out of breath!” Merry sat his back down and helped Frodo sit up.

“Rangers,” Frodo gasped. “They’re after me.”

“Rangers?” Merry repeated. “You’re certain? I’ve never seen rangers in the Shire. Here, have some water. I think the heat has you mistaken.”

Gratefully, Frodo took a long sip from Merry’s water skin. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and noticed he was bleeding again. “Do you think my imagination has split my lip?” he asked, fingering the cut.

“I suppose not,” Merry answered, cocking his head to the side. “Come on, then. It’s getting late. I’ll take you back to Brandy Hall. You’ll never make it back to Bag End before nightfall.”

“But Sam—” Frodo protested weakly.

“Will be fine,” Merry finished for him. “I’d rather Sam worry for an evening than you try to make it back tonight. And in your condition, no less.”

Frodo sighed. Merry was right, even though it embarrassed him to not end to have his younger cousin look after him. He’d spend the night in Brandy Hall and set out for Bag End in the morning, no harm done. Right?


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the copious amounts of room in Brandy Hall, Frodo elected to sleep in Merry’s room. He was still feeling vulnerable and shaken from his encounter with the rangers and needed the comfort of his cousin. The two hobbits were snuggled in Merry’s large bed after a hearty meal, which Frodo gratefully accepted.

“I’m telling you, Frodo. I have never seen Big Folk around these parts and I have lived here all my life. Get some rest and we’ll set out for Hobbiton in the morning.”

Merry blew out the candle and snuggled down into the bed sheets. He reached down to scratch his leg and felt something warm and wet. Surprised, he pulled his hand up, squinting at it in the semi-darkness.

“Frodo, are you bleeding?”

“Wot?” Frodo asked, sitting up on his elbows. He opened his mouth to reply when a sudden pain rippled through his midsection. “I think I am!” he gasped, clutching his belly.

“Mum!” Merry shouted, helping Frodo into a sitting position. They had both noticed the small pool of blood beneath the pregnant hobbit.

Esmeralda ran into the room, a dressing gown thrown over herself hastily.

“Meriadoc, what is this ruckus in the middle of the night?”

“Mum, send for the healer! Frodo’s bleeding!”

Esmeralda covered her mouth in shock and she was out the door in a flash.

“Just relax, Frodo, mum’s bringing help,” Merry said softly, rubbing Frodo’s back.

Frodo whimpered as another pain shook through his body. He clenched Merry’s hand, trying to remember how to breathe until Esmeralda returned with the healer.

“Just calm down, everyone,” the elder hobbit said, walking into the room. “I’ll take a look at the lad. I’m sure it’s nothing to be worried about.”

He helped Frodo lay back down and pushed the bedclothes away so he could have a better look at his patient.

“Mr. Baggins are you with us?” he asked, peering down into Frodo’s pained face.

“Yes.” His voice was low and hoarse.

“Good. I am Darvith. I’m going to examine you, so try to concentrate on the sound of my voice, okay?”

Frodo nodded weakly.

“How far along are you, Mr. Baggins? Do you know?”

“Eighteen weeks,” Frodo ground out.

“Have you been seeing a healer regularly?”

“Not since last month,” Frodo replied, bracing himself as another pain sent his belly quivering.

“I would suggest you see a healer every other week until you give birth, considering the rarity of male pregnancy. I’ll need to have you remove your nightshirt, Mr. Baggins.”

Darvith turned to Esmeralda.

“Do you have an extra blanket, perhaps? Something to offer him some modesty?”

“Of course.”

Esmeralda left and returned with a blanket large enough to cover Frodo and his expanding belly.

“Do you have to stay?” Frodo asked, looking at Esmeralda nervously.

“Oh. Of course not,” she replied, her cheeks colouring. She glanced at Merry. “Just holler if you need me.”

Merry gave her a smile and flicked his eyes towards the doorway. Esmeralda left.

“Do you want me to go?” Merry asked.

Frodo’s eyes darted nervously from his cousin to the doctor. “No, don’t go,” he said finally.

“Mr. Baggins, can you pull your nightshirt up for me?”

Reluctantly, Frodo reached beneath the blanket, keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling. Before he was asked, he bent his knees, too.

Merry carefully diverted his eyes.

The healer folded the blanket up over Frodo’s knees.

“Definitely some bleeding here,” he murmured.

“I had no idea,” Frodo replied sarcastically.

“Frodo,” Merry warned.

Frodo huffed. “It’s not your arse he’s about to stick his fingers up, Merry.”

“I know this is uncomfortable, but just try to relax,” Darvith soothed.

Frodo’s snarky reply was cut off by another pain. Merry offered his hand, which Frodo squeezed with all his strength.

“Remind me to keep my hands to myself when you’re giving birth,” Merry muttered.

“Wot?” Frodo gasped, still in pain.

“Nothing.”

When the pain passed, Darvith got to work. He spread Frodo’s knees farther, much to the hobbit’s chagrin. But when he reached between Frodo’s thighs, he found something he had not been expecting.

“Mr. Baggins, aside from the pain and bleeding you’re currently experiencing, have you had any other unusual symptoms?”

Frodo screwed his face up, thinking for a moment. “Just nausea. Why? Is something wrong?” he asked anxiously, sitting up on his elbows.

“Well,” the healer started nervously. He touched something behind Frodo’s bullocks and he hobbit jumped in surprise. “It seems your body is creating a birth canal. That would explain the bleeding and cramps. It’s not fully developed yet,” he paused, doing something that made Frodo yelp in pain, “I’d say about five centimetres, yet.”

He pulled his hand away and Frodo and Merry could see it was bloody.

“My best recommendation is that you put cotton sheaves in your pants, same as a lass would do, to absorb the blood. If it lasts more than a week, I want you to send for me again.”

“Great. Now I’m turning in to a lass,” Frodo moaned, his cheeks flaming.

“Mr. Baggins, with all due respect, how did you think you would deliver the babe?”

Frodo bit his lip, his face turning an even deeper scarlet.

“I guess we’ll need mum after all,” Merry quipped.

Frodo’s icy glare wiped the smirk off his cousin’s face.

Cotton sheaves were not easy to handle, nor were they consistently effective. Many times throughout the day, Frodo could feel the wetness begin pooling under his backside and he would have to change into yet another pair of Merry’s breeches, sending the soiled ones to the wash. Although Esmeralda assured him it was a common occurrence with young lasses, Frodo nevertheless burned with embarrassment every time it happened.

Thankfully, Merry was taking the whole thing in stride. Frodo’s predicament made sense to him, being a pregnant male and all, but it did little to soothe Frodo’s unease. For Frodo’s safety and the safety of the babe, they had decided Frodo would stay at Brandy Hall until the bleeding stopped. He could not expect to travel back to the Shire if he had to stop every two hours to change the cotton in his breeches. Instead, he wrote to Sam to (hopefully) keep his lover from worrying about his absence.

My Dearest Sam,

I apologise for disappearing without notice. Fear not, I am at Brandy Hall, safe with Merry and his family. I shall be staying here for a fortnight, or so, as there have been complications issues with my pregnancy. Nothing to be alarmed about, just a natural progression I had not anticipated. For that reason, I will be unable to travel.

There is no need for you to come here, Sam, which I know is the thought in your mind. I will be home soon. Please do not worry.

All my love,

Frodo

“You know that won’t keep him satisfied,” Merry commented, dryly.

“I know that. But I couldn’t very well leave him without a letter, now could I?”

Merry shrugged, and then nodded.

“Very well. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Frodo pulled at his (Merry’s) breeches awkwardly, “I have to go... take care of myself.”

Merry tried not to laugh as Frodo hobbled by, one hand holding the crotch of his breeches away from his body.

Frodo received Sam’s letter a week later, and ironically stopped bleeding the same day.

“How many lads do you know that bleed for seven days?” Frodo had growled.

Merry just shrugged good-naturedly. “You’re the only lad I know with child, so I suppose it’s fitting.”

Irritated, Frodo had snatched Sam’s letter out of Merry’s hand and retreated to the guest room (where he refused to sleep).

Dear Frodo,

You cannot know how relieved I was to receive your letter. When you did not return that night, I was beside myself with worry. You know not what it does for my heart to know you and our babe are safe.

I am taking good care of the smial during your absence, so you can return to Bag End without a need for chores. Every day without you grows longer. I would that you return to me as soon as you are able.

Love,

Sam

Frodo clutched the letter to his chest, breathing deeply, hoping it was not his imagination that he could smell his beloved on the parchment. Two drops of water falling on the letter, distorting the ink, startled him.

Reaching up a hand, he realised he was crying. He wiped at the tears, inwardly cursing himself for being so emotional. He folded the letter carefully and placed it with his things.

“I will return to you soon, my Sam.”

Frodo could not have seen the long road ahead of him.


	3. Chapter 3

  
Merry ushered Frodo into a brightly-lit waiting room. They were the only hobbits inside, thankfully. Merry nearly had to drag Frodo up to the desk where a round-faced lass waited with a smile.   
  
“Frodo here has an appointment with Healer Darvith.”  
  
Frodo glared at his cousin. “I'm pregnant, not an invalid, Merry,” he muttered under his breath.   
  
“Could have fooled me,” Merry replied softly.   
  
“Are you ready, Mister Baggins?” the lass asked.   
  
Frodo nodded, but he looked more than a little nervous.   
  
“Do you want me to go with you?” Merry asked, all trace of humour gone from his face.   
  
Frodo took a deep breath. “I'll be okay. But thank you, Mer.”  
  
Merry clapped him on the back before Frodo allowed the lass to lead him farther into the building.   
  
She led him to a small room that held a table covered in parchment, several chairs, and a small table with various metal instruments atop its gleaming surface.   
  
“Please remove everything from the waist down, cover up with this, and have a seat on the table.” She handed Frodo a linen blanket and pulled the door shut, leaving him alone in the examination room.   
  
Frodo jumped out of his breeches and underpants and was up on the table with the blanket spread across his lap as fast as he could. He couldn’t imagine how embarrassed he’d be if the nurse -- or worse, the healer -- walked in while he was changing.   
  
Once settled, he took his time looking around the room. There wasn’t much to look at, other than the table of instruments Frodo had never seen and was worried where the healer might want to put them -- not a good thought. The table he sat on was also rather curious. At the end were what appeared to be handles. Frodo, at least, had used them as he climbed onto the table.   
  
A soft knock on the door startled Frodo out of his musings.   
  
“Come in!” he called, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten.   
  
The door opened and in walked, not Healer Darvith, but the Ranger -- Strider -- who had saved him from the other Rangers. Frodo felt the knot in his chest tighten farther.   
  
“Easy, Frodo,” Strider said, sensing his fear. “I am here because Healer Darvith was called away. I’ve a good reputation with the Hobbits in Buckland. How are you feeling today?”  
  
Frodo cleared his throat. Surely none of the nurses would let this Man in here to harm him.. would they?  
  
“I’m feeling better today than I have the last week,” Frodo said softly, finding his voice.   
  
Strider nodded, consulting the papers in his hand. “And the bleeding has stopped?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo answered, blushing slightly at the thought of this Ranger reading about his bleeding and need for cotton sheaves.   
  
“Very good.” Strider sat down on one of the chairs at the end of the table. “Have you experienced any other symptoms lately?”  
  
“Other than the bleeding, no.”  
  
“Cravings?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Pain or discomfort?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Discharge?”  
  
Frodo’s cheeks coloured and he fiddled with the edge of the blanket on his lap.  
  
“Frodo?”  
  
“Yes?” Frodo said looking up.  
  
“Have you been experiencing any discharge?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo repeated, his blush darkening.   
  
“Has it been a copious discharge or a light discharge?”  
  
Why did he need to know such details? What difference did it make, anyway?  
  
“It is enough that I have to change my underpants at least twice a day.”  
  
As if this whole experience could not get any more mortifying, “And the smell?”  
  
“What?” Frodo squeaked.   
  
The Healer looked up from his notes calmly. “Does the discharge have a strong odour?”  
  
Frodo was sure he could fry an egg on his face it was so hot. “No odour… it’s just… wet.”  
  
Strider nodded, making more notes. “That’s completely normal. Nothing to be worried, or embarrassed, about.”  
  
But his comment only fanned Frodo’s embarrassment.   
  
“Well, let’s take a look, shall we?”  
  
“Okay,” Frodo said, although he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to.  
  
“I need you to lie back, Frodo,” Strider said with a chuckle. “This is much different than the last time we did this.”  
  
Frodo laid back, stiff as a board, with his legs glued together.   
  
“Now, bend your knees.”  
  
Frodo bent his knees.  
  
“And slide closer.”  
  
Frodo moved himself down until he felt like he was at the edge of the table.   
  
“Closer, still,” Strider said, crooking his finger at the hobbit.  
  
Frodo scooted closer, afraid he really would fall off the table.   
  
“Still not close enough, Frodo, I need your bottom at the very edge so I can see everything.”  
  
Frodo sighed heavily and pressed forward until Strider told him to stop, when he was sure his bottom was hanging completely off the table. He felt so very exposed in this position -- his thighs were pressed against his growing belly. He felt the cool air sweep across his bits, chilling the moist skin. With his legs so, Strider should be able to see the babe without touching anything! He silently prayed Strider wouldn’t comment on his bits or anything. That would be worse than humiliating.  
  
“Okay, Frodo, now I just need to have you place your feet in the stirrups.”  
  
Frodo pressed his chin to his chest in effort to see the Healer. “Stirrups?”  
  
“Here.” Strider took one of Frodo’s furry feet and placed it on what Frodo thought was a handle. Oh.   
  
When Strider moved the other foot, Frodo felt more exposed than ever before. Now he felt like a nut that had been cracked open to reveal the tender insides. At this rate, he felt like he might either crack in half or die of embarrassment.   
  
The Healer reached for an oil lamp on the floor, lit it, and set it on the table, aiming the light so that it was shining right up inside Frodo’s body.  
  
“Let’s put some light on our subject, yes?” Strider said, trying for a lighter mood.   
  
Frodo shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the light and the weight of Strider’s eyes. Nothing was going to lighten this atmosphere. Frodo could feel the heat of the lantern on his bits and secretly wondered which was hotter -- his bits or his face?  
  
“Be just a moment while I ready myself.”  
  
Frodo watched, incredulous, as Strider left him to wash his hands in a basin. Here he was, splayed out like a Christmas goose while the Healer WASHED HIS HANDS! Surely, he could have done that BEFORE he spread Frodo out and lit up his bits?   
  
Strider snapped on a pair of gloves and Frodo jumped in surprise.   
  
“Nervous?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.   
  
Frodo shook his head, but he couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat.   
  
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Strider said, patting Frodo on the knee in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. Frodo found it awkward and uncomfortable.   
  
The healer situated himself next to the table of instruments and moved forward so that his face was inches from Frodo’s bits. Frodo was sure he could feel Strider’s breath on the opening of his birth canal.   
  
“I’m just going to take a look manually before I insert the speculum.”  
  
“Speculum?” Heat flooded Frodo’s body and he felt himself begin to sweat. Great. Now he’d start to stink in addition to the humiliation of being spread out in front of a near stranger.   
  
He felt gentle fingers par the outer folds of his birth canal and enter him. Reflexively, Frodo tightened his muscles.   
  
“Frodo,” Strider said gently, “I’ll need you to relax so I can complete the examination.”  
  
Frodo forced himself to relax, allowing Strider’s fingers deeper inside his body.   
  
Almost as quickly as he pushed them in, Strider pulled his fingers out. “That’s different,” he muttered, staring fixedly at Frodo’s birth canal.   
  
Oh, no. Surely he wasn’t deformed? Strider already had his fingers up there. What could he have found this time? Worse, something could be wrong with the babe.  
  
“What is it?” Frodo asked with fear tinging his voice and he levered himself up onto his elbows.   
  
“It appears you’ve a hymen inside your birth canal.”  
  
Frodo felt his heart sink past his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he ventured, “Will the babe survive?”  
  
“As far as I can tell, so far…” Strider’s brows knitted in confusion.   
  
At the Healer’s confused look, Frodo became confused as well. “I’m dying, am I not? The hymen--”  
  
“Is a thin membrane of skin inside a virginal vagina,” Strider supplied, letting out a hearty laugh, patting Frodo on the knee.   
  
The hobbit sank back onto the table, staring at the ceiling as embarrassment flooded his every pore.   
  
“Now, Frodo, ignorance is nothing to be ashamed of. You’re a male. You had no way of knowing how the vagina operates.”  
  
Frodo nodded, just absorbing the information. He was completely and utterly at a loss for words.   
  
“Does that mean we can’t do the exam?” he asked quietly.   
  
“Of course not!” Strider’s voice boomed, making Frodo feel so very small and vulnerable in this position. “It just means I need to use a smaller speculum so I don’ t break your hymen!”  
  
Frodo sighed loudly.   
  
Strider raised an eyebrow, but Frodo said nothing.   
  
Picking up the smaller of the two scary-looking silver devices, Strider regarded Frodo over the hobbit’s linen-covered knees. “Take a deep breath.”   
  
Frodo did so and almost immediately he felt something stretching the small opening of his birth canal. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain.   
  
Strider’s grey eyes flicked up to Frodo’s face. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, concern heavy in his voice.   
  
“A bit,” Frodo replied through clenched teeth.   
  
“Relax,” Strider said, running a hand over the soft fur on Frodo’s foot. “You’ve a muscle down there that can be relaxed. Your birth canal will stretch. How do you think the babe will come out otherwise?”  
  
Frodo concentrated on relaxing his muscles and felt the pain lessen slightly. Then he felt the stretching increase and he knew, just knew his birth canal had been spread wide open to the Man’s gaze. It wasn’t enough that his thighs were spread as far as they’d go, and his bum was nearly hanging off the table. Oh, no. Now Strider had pried his most private virginal space open and shined a lantern right up inside him! He’d probably never be able to look the Man in the eyes again, for reliving this embarrassing episode.   
  
“Now, Frodo, I just need you to relax. I’m going to examine your cervix for any unusual signs or symptoms. First, I’ll need to remove some of the discharge so I can get a clear view.”  
  
Frodo shifted his hips.  
  
“Nothing to be worried about. As I said before, a copious amount of discharge is completely normal during pregnancy. This may pinch just a bit.”  
  
Frodo suddenly felt a cramp begin deep inside his birth canal. It was more uncomfortable than painful, but Frodo clenched his hand in the blanket across his knees until the feeling abated.   
  
“There, now,” Strider said, slipping the tool from Frodo’s body. “All finished.”  
  
“That’s it?” Frodo asked, almost disbelieving.   
  
Strider paused as he removed one of his gloves. “Unless you’d rather I keep looking at your cervix?” he asked, jest in his voice.   
  
Frodo’s cheeks coloured and he looked down at his lap, embarrassed. “No, that’s quite all right.”   
  
Strider grinned. “I thought as much. Get dressed and I’ll meet you outside when you’re finished.”  
  
Frodo climbed down gingerly and pulled his clothes on. With a deep breath, he opened the door and prepared to face the Ranger again.


	4. Chapter 4

Aragorn asked that Frodo wait at least one more week before traveling to ensure that everything had formed and healed properly inside his body. Frodo, of course, was nearly climbing the walls in his desire to get home, but Merry reminded him that the babe needed to be the number one priority.   
  
Frodo sank down in front of a plate of mushrooms. “You’re right, of course,” he said between bites, “but I feel like such a bother all cooped up here!”  
  
“Of course you’re no bother, Frodo!” Esmerelda said, setting down another plate of mushrooms beside the first.   
  
Frodo made a noise of discontent, but tucked into the second plate never-the-less.   
  
***  
  
Two days before they were planning to leave for Hobbiton, Frodo came down with a terrible sickness. Merry was sent to fetch the Healer. He brought back Strider instead of Darvith, much to Frodo’s chagrin.   
  
“Not him,” Frodo croaked, turning his face away from the Man.  
  
“Hush now, Frodo,” Strider said, placing a cool hand on the hobbit’s forehead. “He’s certainly warm. I’ll need to check his temperature.” To Frodo he said, “I’ll need to help you turn over on your side.”  
  
Frodo grumbled, but with a little help from Strider, and a pillow between his knees, they managed to get Frodo situated comfortably. Strider rolled down the blankets and grasped the hem of Frodo’s nightshirt. “I’ll need to lift this.”  
  
Frodo buried his red face in the pillow. “If you must,” he mumbled. At least he wouldn’t have to see the Man’s face this time.   
  
Suddenly and without warning, Frodo felt something cold and slick enter his behind. He yelped and tried to squirm away, but a firm hand on his lower back held him steady.   
  
“Easy, Frodo. I’m just taking your temperature.”  
  
Frodo lifted his head from his pillow long enough to say, “You’ve nearly got your fingers up my bum!” before burying his face back under the cotton.   
  
Strider pulled the fever-stick out and covered Frodo with his nightshirt once again. “It seems you have a slight fever, but nothing to be worried about at the moment. What else is plaguing you, Master Hobbit?”  
  
Frodo rolled onto his other side so he could see the man. “My throat hurts and my head feels like it’s full of cotton.”  
  
Strider nodded in sympathy. “From the look of it, you’ve just a minor illness. I’d advise you drink plenty of fluids. Most preferably hot tea. If you don’t start to feel better in the next few days, send for me again. For now, I’ll leave you something to help you sleep. Rest and fluids are the best thing to help you mend.”  
  
“Where is Darvith?” Frodo asked, looking up at Strider with big blue eyes.   
  
“He was called away. But fear not, Master Hobbit, you are in good hands with me.”  
  
Frodo regarded him steadily before closing his eyes. “Would you ask Merry to bring me some tea when I wake?”  
  
“Of course.” Strider brushed a dark curl off Frodo’s forehead, feeling his heart swell with more affection than it should for the young hobbit.   
  
Strider left Brandy Hall and made his way back to the small cabin he was staying in on the edge of Buckland. Normally, he and his men made it a priority to stay on the edge of the Shire, close enough to protect the hobbits, but far enough that their presence was unnoticed. Never before had Strider allowed himself to stray so close to the fair creatures. It seemed almost unavoidable, however, when he received word that the hobbits of Bree were in need of a Healer. As a Healer himself, Strider was on good terms with Darvith. Therefore, when he received word that Darvith had been called away on urgent business, he knew his duty was with the Buckland hobbits. Little did he know that fate would bring him back to the lovely blue-eyed hobbit he saved several weeks earlier. The cabin was set up for him by one of Darvith’s daughters with Man-sized furniture. Strider didn’t plan to be in Buckland very long, but he needed a place to stay while he was there.   
  
He wasn’t summoned again to the hobbit’s bedside, but stopped by anyway, to see how Frodo was doing. Surprisingly, it was Frodo himself who answered the door.   
  
“Hello,” he said, blushing slightly. “Can I help you?”  
  
“I’ve just come to see how you are doing. I can see you’re feeling better.”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo answered, shifting nervously. “Would you like to come in? I’m the only one home right now, but I just made tea.”  
  
“Tea would be wonderful,” Strider replied, inclining his head.   
  
Frodo led him through the tastefully decorated smial to the kitchen, which he hadn’t seen during his previous visit. Frodo gestured Strider to the Man-sized chair at the far end of the table.   
  
“Does your family receive visits from other Big Folk often?”  
  
Frodo grinned, setting two cups of tea on the table. “Surely you don’t think you’re the only Man in Buckland? My family is acquainted with several of the Big Folk. They don’t come around _too_ often, but we have an extra chair for them just in case.”  
  
“Well, no matter the purpose, I appreciate the hospitality, Master Baggins,” Strider said, taking a long sip from his tea cup. “Will you be setting off for Hobbiton soon?”  
  
Frodo nodded. “Provided my body doesn’t rebel again, I plan to head out tomorrow morning, actually.”  
  
Strider’s brows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected the hobbit to be leaving so soon. Not that Frodo had a reason to stay, of course.   
  
“Don’t you think that’s rather… soon?”  
  
“Soon?” Frodo repeated with a laugh. “As a Healer, you might think so, but it’s been nearly a month since I’ve seen my Sam. I wasn’t even supposed to be gone for the evening!”  
  
“Of course,” Strider said, trying to sound as though he understood, even if he did not. Suddenly, an idea dawned on him. “Are you going alone?”  
  
“I planned on it,” Frodo said slowly.   
  
“What if I went with you? I hate the thought of a hobbit in your condition all alone out there. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you, especially after I found you with my rangers…”  
  
Frodo sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over the top of his belly. He regarded Srider with a lifted brow. “Or am I more likely to find trouble if you come with me? It was after all, _your Rangers_ who tied me up like a criminal.”  
  
“They were only following the orders I gave him. How were any of us to anticipate a hobbit wandering into our camp?”  
  
Now Frodo actually begin to flush with anger. He stood up so that he was nearly eye-level with the Man.   
  
“I told you when you found me. Your man, Stolis, kidnapped me!”  
  
Strider, of course, knew all this. After he’d helped Frodo escape the camp, he’d dealt with Stolis himself. But then again, he was rather enjoying the red flush across Frodo’s cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.   
  
Strider leaned forward, rubbing at his stubbled chin. “Is that so?” he said, sounding as though he’d never considered the idea.   
  
Frodo’s eyes flashed. “Of course it is! Do you think me a liar?”  
  
Strider couldn’t help himself. He grasped Frodo by the upper arms and pressed his mouth to the hobbit’s. For a second, Frodo was all wide eyes and shock. Then he came back to himself, pushed Strider away, and slapped the Man across the face.   
  
“I deserved that,” Strider said, wincing slightly.   
  
“Darn right, you did!” Frodo said firmly. “But I wonder if maybe I should slap you again because I liked the kiss.”  
  
Strider raised his eyebrows in question.   
  
“I’m practically a married hobbit, you know, except for the fact that it’s a lad I’ve taken up with. And it’s his child I’m to bear.”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
“But the longer I’m with you, the more I forget about poor Sam.”  
  
“Then don’t go back,” Strider said, his voice gone lower than normal.   
  
“I’ve got to. Besides, what do you expect me to do? Live in a camp of Rangers for the rest of my life? Raise Sam’s child there? We’re hobbits, in case you’ve forgotten.”  
  
Strider shrugged.   
  
A minute later, Merry and Esmerelda came through the door laden with shopping bags, saving Strider from giving a real answer.   
  
Frodo jumped back from the Man, lest someone should get the wrong idea. Strider gave him a meaningful glance -- a promise to continue their conversation later.


	5. Chapter 5

  
Strider did stay for dinner at Esmerelda's insistence. Afterward, he and Frodo stepped out into the cool night air for a smoke (only Strider smoked, of course) and to continue their interrupted conversation.   
  
“If you are going with me, I would leave tomorrow,” Frodo began insistently. “I've been gone from Sam for far too long.”  
  
“I am at your service, Master Baggins.” Strider said quietly.   
  
“You are not going to argue with me?” Frodo hedged.   
  
Strider took a long drag on his pipe before answering. “You've made your wishes clear. I have no desire to separate one from his partner, if that is where his heart truly lies.”  
  
“It is,” Frodo answered automatically. “I love Sam.”   
  
“I don't doubt that.”  
  
Frodo looked down at himself, smoothing his hands over his belly. He was not sure what to say. So many things had changed in the last few weeks, not all of them good. He liked to think that he had become a stronger Hobbit because of the struggles he face, but somehow he felt weaker, both mentally and physically. Time away from Sam had been... beneficial, but Frodo found it incredibly difficult dealing with new stages of male pregnancy without his lover by his side. Nearly half of his moods made him want to burst into tears if someone so much as looked at him funny, while the other half made him want to yell and scream at everyone in the vicinity. Sometimes he wondered if he'd survive four more months of pregnancy, with or without Sam.   
  
“If it is still your wish, we can set out for Hobbiton at first light,” Strider said quietly, pulling Frodo from his revere. “The route you took to get here only took a day, but that was because you ventured past my camp. We can skirt my Rangers, but it will take two, maybe even three days.”   
  
“May I have your word that you will protect me from the other Rangers if we go that way?”   
  
“You have my word that I will ensure your safety while in the presence of my Rangers.”  
  
Inwardly, Frodo gave a sigh of relief. Admittedly, he did not know this Man very well, but for some reason, he was sure he could trust him.   
  
As promised, Frodo and Strider left Buckland at the first sight of dawn. Merry had given him a tight hug, along with a promise to visit soon. He was as anxious as everyone else to meet the newest member of the Baggins-Gamgee family. Darvith had re-appeared in town the previous day, which was part of the reason Strider was so willing and able to take Frodo back to Hobbiton.   
  
They set out with several days' rations with the intention of stopping at Strider's camp for the evening. Frodo was apprehensive about going back to the place where this whole mess started, but with Strider by his side, there should be nothing to worry about.   
  
They made it to the camp just as the sun settled into its high-noon position in the sky. The day was warm, but not too hot, but Frodo needed to rest. Strider took the Hobbit directly to his own tent for a lie-down. He left the tent only when he was sure Frodo was asleep.   
  
His Rangers crowded him as soon as he reappeared.   
  
“One at a time,” he said, holding his hands up against their barrage of questions.   
  
“Where have you been? And what is the Halfling doing here? Isn't he the one Stolis got himself killed over?” These questions came from Bareth. Next to the late Stolis, he was the one Strider had the most trouble with.   
  
Strider scrubbed a hand across his brow. His life had gotten so much more complicated since Frodo appeared in his camp. “My whereabouts are non of your concern. You have your orders. If you are unable to perform your duties without my constant presence, please let me know and I shall release you from the company immediately.   
  
“As for the Halfling, he will be here for the night and then I will see him off. No one is to bother him or even speak to him. Do I make myself clear?”   
  
The Men around him nodded, although he heard a bit of grumbling, which was to be expected.   
  
Strider spent the rest of the day making rounds in the camp. There were reports to review and ill Men to see, among other mundane tasks, which it seemed only Strider was capable of fixing. Sometimes it seemed as though his Men were completely unable to function without him. While it was an ego boost, it did nothing to assuage his fear that the Shire could be under attack if his Rangers failed to hold the border without him.   
  
He didn't have a chance to head back to his tent until after dinnertime. He knew Frodo would be starving. With an apology on his lips, he threw back the flap of the tent.   
  
His first reaction was confusion at the sight of the empty cot. Then he heard a moan and looked down. He fell to his knees beside Frodo, who was curled into a ball on the floor. The blood soaking through his trousers did not go unnoticed by Strider's keen eyes.   
  
Keeping himself as calm as possible, Strider gathered the Hobbit in his arms and headed straight for the healer's tent. He was stripping Frodo's clothing off nearly as soon as he laid him down. The Hobbit seemed to be in so much pain he could only moan weakly as Strider turned him this way and that.   
  
“Get me some poppy and some athelas!' he demanded of the other healer. “This is going to hurt, Frodo,” he said, although he wasn't sure if the Hobbit could hear him through his pain.   
  
With no further delay, Strider thrust his first two fingers inside Frodo's body to ensure that his cervix was open. Frodo could only gasp and moan as contractions rippled through his belly. Strider pulled his bloody hand out of Frodo's body and wiped it on his leggings.   
  
The other healer reappeared and Strider took the poppy first.   
  
“Put this under your tongue,” he said, forcing the herb into Frodo's mouth with bloody fingers.   
  
Within minutes, Frodo's tremors eased and his eyes closed to a drug-induced sleep.   
  
Strider placed a mat beneath Frodo's bottom to absorb the blood and covered him with a blanket. Now it was just a waiting game.   
  
Strider was sitting by the cot when Frodo's eyes opened the next morning. His breathing was heavy and he still seemed very much under the influence of the poppy. He rolled his dilated blue eyes toward Strider and held out his hand. Strider took it, laying his free hand on Frodo's forehead.   
  
“The babe,” Frodo whispered, his voice sounding rough and unused.   
  
Strider shook his head. He had changed the pad beneath Frodo's bottom twice over the course of the night.   
  
“I am so sorry, Frodo.”  
  
The Hobbit pulled his hand free of Strider's and rolled onto his side. Strider could see tears falling down the fair cheeks.   
  
“You must be hungry.”  
  
Frodo shook his head.   
  
“Would you like some tea, even?”   
  
Another shake.   
  
“I would leave you, then. I shall return to check on you later.”   
  
Frodo said nothing as the Man left him alone in the tent.   
  
When Strider returned, he was surprised to see Frodo dressed in his blood-stained clothing, sitting on the bed.   
  
“Frodo, you will continue to bleed for a few more days...” the Man started.   
  
“I've taken care of it,” Frodo answered. His voice was hard and sharp as though it had been Strider himself who took his babe. “I would like to go home now.” He hopped down from the cot and Strider noticed with unease that the bump of Frodo's belly had already diminished noticeably.   
  
“It would probably be best if we remain here until the bleeding stops.”  
  
“Strider. I am going home.”   
  
The Man had never heard Frodo sound so demanding and his heart broke for the small creature he had come to care so deeply for.   
  
“Let me find you some clean breeches before we go.”   
  
Frodo followed Strider out of the tent, his arms wrapped tightly about his midsection.


	6. Chapter 6

  
Frodo made it back to the Shire that evening travel-worn and weary. He was dressed in a pair of Strider's leggings the Man had cut to get over Frodo's feet and to fit him better. If nothing else, they were clean. Frodo had left his blood-stained trousers behind at the Rangers' camp. They weren't uncomfortable, but Frodo was more than ready for his own clothing, his own bed, and his own...  
  
“Sam.”   
  
Frodo broke into a run when he saw his beloved standing outside the door to Bag End smoking a pipe. When he saw Frodo, he dropped the pipe and ran to meet his lover, sweeping the smaller hobbit up in his arms.   
  
“Oh, Frodo, my dear, dear Frodo,” Sam sobbed. Frodo clung to Sam as the tears coursed down his cheeks. Once they calmed down a bit, Sam gently lowered Frodo to the ground. He stepped back to take a look at his lover and frowned.   
  
“Not now, Sam,” Frodo said, pressing his fingertips to Sam's lips. “We have a guest.”  
  
Sam followed Frodo's line of sight, noticing the Ranger for the first time. His eyes grew wide, but he pursed his lips and held out his hand.   
  
“Samwise Gamgee at your service, Mister...”  
  
“Strider,” the Man said, taking the Hobbit's small hand in his much larger one. “Just Strider.”  
  
Sam released Strider's hand and turned back to Frodo. “Let's get you inside, yeah?”  
  
Frodo nodded, leaning heavily against the other Hobbit, and allowed Sam to lead him inside. Frodo left Sam and Strider in the kitchen and headed for the bath. Sam offered to help, but Frodo gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him to take care of Strider.   
  
Sam busied himself with making tea and preparing supper. He had yet to eat himself, and he was sure Strider and Frodo must be starving.   
  
“I wanted to thank you for taking care of Frodo.”  
  
Aragorn inclined his head. “It was my pleasure to care for the young Master Baggins.”  
  
“Pardon me if I sound rude, but how _did_ you meet Frodo? When he wrote, he told me he was at Brandy Hall.”   
  
“And so he was. I was the Healer who tended to him in Buckland,” Strider said, deliberately leaving out most of the story.   
  
“Thank you for caring for him. He really means a lot to me.”  
  
Strider accepted the steaming mug Sam handed him. “I can certainly tell. You also mean a great deal to him. He speaks of you with great fondness.”  
  
“We've been together nearly all our lives, Frodo and I. My old Gaffer was his Uncle Bilbo's gardner. I took over when I was old enough to handle it alone. Then when Mr. Bilbo left, it was just Frodo and I. We had always been together, but once Mr. Bilbo was gone, we stopped worrying about what he might say.” Sam coloured a bit at his own words, suddenly afraid he'd said too much. But he was saved from his own embarrassment as Frodo walked into the room in a dressing gown, looking very refreshed and relaxed, but still very tired. “Feeling better, love?” Sam asked, placing a mug of tea in front of Frodo.   
  
“I am. I cannot tell you how nice it is to be back here in my own clothing. It was nice to see Merry, but I certainly did not plan to be gone for weeks. How have things been around here?”  
  
“Business as usual. Although you gave me quite the scare until I got your letter. I couldn't imagine you just up and leaving me, so I was mostly worried something had happened to you or the babe.”  
  
Frodo quickly changed the subject, skillfully reminding Sam about supper. They ate and showed Strider to his room. The Man, who had been very quiet throughout the dinner, thanked them and shut his door, leaving the Hobbits alone. Sam went to the privvy, leaving Frodo to crawl into the bed without him, a small mercy in Frodo's eyes. Frodo also turned the lantern down low before Sam came back.   
  
When the younger Hobbit entered the room, he changed into his nightshirt and climbed in bed beside his lover. Frodo reached over and turned the lantern completely down, dousing them both in darkness. For a long minute, they lay stiffly beside one another. Finally, Frodo reached out and took Sam's hand, placing it on his belly. The extra weight he gained with the pregnancy was still there, but the weight of the babe itself was gone.   
  
“I lost the baby Sam.”  
  
He dared a glance at his lover and saw tears pooling in Sam's hazel eyes. Frodo rolled over and tucked his head beneath Sam's chin, wrapping himself in the warm embrace. Only then did he allow himself to cry for the unborn child he and Sam had lost.   
  
  
The next morning, Frodo's eyes were red and puffy, evidence that he'd spent a large majority of the night crying, but he seemed to be in better spirits than before. He was up with the sun, humming as he prepared tea and first breakfast for himself, Sam and Strider. The Man startled him when he walked in the front door.   
  
“Where have you been?” Frodo asked, raising a curious eyebrow.   
  
“I was in need of fresh air. I did not wish to disturb you or Sam.”  
  
“Are you going back to the camp today? You are welcome to stay for as long as you like. I hope you would know that.”   
  
“As much as I may like to stay, I cannot. I have been away from my Men for far too long. I am almost afraid they will begin to mutiny soon,” he answered with a wry grin.   
  
The look on Frodo's face was one of resignation. “I will miss you, Strider. Had it not been for you, I may never have made it home, or even to Brandy Hall, for that matter. You saved my life.”  
  
Strider looked down, unsure how to respond to the praise. He could not possibly put into words what this little Hobbit meant to him. “I was only acting according to my duty, Frodo. I would hope that any of my Rangers would have done the same. Stolis was an anomaly, and I told you, he has been dealt with.”  
  
“You killed him,” Frodo replied softly.   
  
After a moment, “I did.”  
  
“Did you kill him because it was me he assaulted, or would you put any of your Men to death for assault?”  
  
Strider took a while to answer this time. He used the eggs and rashers Frodo tipped onto his plate as an excuse to think. He took a long sip of tea to wash down his mouthful before he answered. “I admit that you have a certain beauty about you. I just could not understand how one of my Men could hurt such a fair creature. I was so drawn to you, and then by chance, I met you again in Buckland. And now...”  
  
Frodo's eyes were wide and expectant. “And now?”  
  
Strider glanced at the hallway, but this time there was no Sam to interrupt them, the way Merry and Esmerelda had in Brandy Hall.   
  
“And now I have delivered you safely back to your partner, and it is time for me to leave.”  
  
Frodo jumped up, suddenly furious. “So that's that, then? You're just going to leave?”  
  
“Frodo, what would you have me do?” Strider asked, exasperated.   
  
“You could at least...” he paused, realising that it was his own decision that was driving Strider back to the north, “...stay.”  
  
Strider shook his head. “I cannot do that. Not to you, not to Sam, and not to myself.” He finished the last forkful on his plate and stood up. “I thank you for your hospitality, Master Baggins.”   
  
And then he was gone.   
  
Frodo did not even have the energy to run after him. He just sat down in the chair Strider had just vacated. The weight of the loss in his life fell down upon him and he lost himself to his grief.   
  
The rest of the day found Frodo relaxing on the porch, smoking with Sam. He'd cleaned himself up and did not speak of the episode with Strider. He only offered a simple statement that Strider had left earlier for his camp. He certainly couldn't put a name to the knot of pain in his chest, although he knew it was nothing physical. He blew the smoke of from between his lips with practiced ease. It was nice to be able to smoke again, although he wasn't sure he would have taken the trade, had he been given the choice. The sun was warm on his face, and Sam beside him. For those things, he could be grateful.   
  
“Tell me about your trip,” Sam said, stretching his legs out in front of him. “How is Merry?”  
  
“There's really not much to tell,” Frodo shrugged. “Merry is just as well as he can be. I enjoyed my stay in Buckland, but I am thankful to be home.”  
  
Sam's brow creased thoughtfully. “In your letter, you mentioned that you were having some... issues. Is that why you lost the babe?”  
  
Frodo felt the anger well inside of him sudden and unexpectedly. He leapt up, nearly dropping his pipe in the process.   
  
“Don't ask about things you don't understand, Samwise Gamgee! It's my body that had to go through all of these changes and just because I needed to see a Healer does not mean that it had anything to do with you or _your babe_!” He stomped into the house, leaving behind a bewildered and shocked Sam behind.


	7. Chapter 7

Frodo was sullen and quiet for several days. Sam attributed it to the loss of their babe. He couldn’t imagine the strain it must have put on Frodo to not only lose their child, but to lose it so far from home and without his Sam by his side.   
  
So Sam did the best he could. He prepared all of Frodo’s favourite foods, took him for walks around the Shire, and made sure he had his favourite books by his side. But nothing seemed to appease the ache in Frodo’s mind, and Sam was beginning to worry.  
  
He even consulted the healer on the edge of Hobbiton.   
  
“Hello?” he called, knocking on the round door.   
  
As he was about to turn around and head back to Bag End, a wrinkled old Hobbit lass opened the door. “Yes?” she asked, squinting up at Sam with cataract-filled eyes.   
  
“Madame Singleton?”  
  
“Yes?” The woman squinted harder. “What is your pleasure, young one?”  
  
“It’s my . . . partner. Might I come inside to discuss the matter further?”  
  
Madame Singleton gave him a once-over, then seeming to decide that he was of decent folk, opened the door and stepped aside to allow Sam to pass. She set him at an old rickety table and offered him tea and biscuits, both of which he declined. She fixed herself some tea and sat across from Sam.   
  
“Now, tell me, lad. You said your partner is having some difficulties?”  
  
“Yes. He was—had been—carrying our . . . child.” Even now it sounded strange to his own ears.   
  
But Madame Singleton seemed nonplussed. “Go on. He was carrying your child . . .”  
  
“Yes. And he . . . went to visit a relative. While he was there, he . . . he lost the child. And now . . . he just isn’t the same. I don’t think he’s taking it well at all. He’ll barely talk to me as of late.”   
  
Madame Singleton nodded sagely.   
  
“Sounds like your lad’s gotten himself into a bit of the blues. No fear, though, young Samwise, give him some time and he should be back to normal before you know it.”  
  
Sam pursed his lips and nodded. “Well, Madame Singleton, I thank you for you time.”  
  
The old Hobbit showed him to the door and with a wave, he was off home. It wasn’t until he neared the gate at Bag End that he’d realised he never told Madame Singleton his name.   
  
But as the days went by, Frodo seemed to be getting worse, rather than better. He’d almost completely stopped eating, except for when Sam would force him to eat something to keep him from starving. His clothes hung off his small frame and his face was gaunt and pallid. He looked like death warmed over.   
  
“Frodo, please, you’ve got to eat something. For me?”  
  
Frodo rolled over in the bed and pulled the quilt tighter about his neck. “I’m not hungry, Sam,” he said softly.   
  
“Frodo, if you don’t agree to eat this soup, I swear to Eru, I will pour it down your throat.” Sam’s tone left no room for argument.   
  
Frodo managed three bites before he had to push the bowl away. “If I eat anymore I shall begin to heave.”   
  
“Well, at least you’ve something in your belly,” Sam said, rubbing Frodo’s back gently. “Can I get you anything else?”  
  
Frodo shook his head and laid back down.   
  
Sam stroked the curls off Frodo’s forehead. He knew that he was losing Frodo day by day, but he didn’t know what else to do. Part of him feared that he’d just wake up one morning and find Frodo cold and lifeless next to him. Frodo would barely eat, and even then he spent most of his time sleeping.   
  
It was time for a second opinion.   
  
Sam found a bit of parchment and a quill in Frodo’s study to pen a quick letter.   
  
_Merry,  
  
I haven’t much time, so I am dispensing with pleasantries. When you found Frodo near Buckland, he had been in the company of a camp of Rangers. One of them—Strider—is the one who brought Frodo home.   
  
In short, I need Strider here. Frodo’s health is rapidly declining and I don’t know what else to do. Please, Merry, you’ve got to help me.   
  
I await your hasty reply.  
  
Sam_  
  
Merry’s reply came not two days later. He had only scrawled a single sentence on the parchment:  
  
 _He will be on his way._  
  
True to Merry’s letter, Strider arrived the following day. Frodo was napping in the bedroom after a bit of tea and a few biscuits. It was all he could manage, but Sam didn’t want to push so hard that the small meal came back up. The harsh rapping on the door made Sam jump in surprise, but he rushed to answer the door.  
  
Strider wasn’t one for pleasantries. He had clearly thrown together a few things and headed off on his horse. His clothes were splattered with mud and his hair hung lank and wet over his face. Sam wrinkled his nose at the smell, but now wasn’t a time to debate cleanliness.   
  
“Where is he?”  
  
Sam hurried down the hall to show Strider to the bedroom.   
  
Strider crossed the room in two long strides and placed a large hand against the sleeping Frodo’s cheek and forehead. “He’s burning up. Sam, bring me some cold water, with ice if you can.”   
  
Sam rushed to comply.   
  
Strider sighed at the sight of the ill Hobbit. When he’d left, Frodo had been bad, but he hadn’t been in dire need. He’d assumed that Frodo being around his kin would bring the light back into his eyes and the blush back into his cheeks.   
  
“What have you done to yourself, Frodo?” Strider whispered, brushing the back of his hand against Frodo’s cheek.   
  
Frodo’s eyelashes fluttered, and he awakened, but his eyes looked more grey than the usual brilliant blue. “Strider,” he croaked. “You came.”   
  
“You’re ill. Of course I came.”  
  
Frodo drew in a deep shuddering breath. “I’m dying, Strider.”   
  
“Don’t be daft, Frodo. You need to eat something. You’re not dying,” Strider replied sternly.   
  
But Frodo’s grey-blue eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to live anymore.”  
  
At this, Strider sat down on the bed and pulled the Hobbit to him. He cradled Frodo in his lap, rocking him gently, whispering words of comfort.   
  
“You don’t want to die, Frodo. You’ve so much to live for. Why could you possibly believe that you don’t want to live?”  
  
Frodo rubbed his wet eyes against the fabric of Strider’s coat. “I have failed Sam. I lost his child and I . . .” his breath hitched. “I no longer desire him. He’s been so kind to me and if I can’t repay that, then I deserve to die.”  
  
“Frodo.” Strider turned him so that he could see the Hobbit as he spoke to him. “That is completely ridiculous logic. It is perfectly normally to lose desire after losing a child. That does not mean you need to starve yourself to death.”  
  
Frodo toyed nervously with the ties on Strider’s sleeves. “It’s not just that I don’t have desire. It’s that I don’t desire _Sam_.” His eyes grew wide. “It’s that I desire you, Strider.”   
  
In the doorway, Sam didn’t even notice as he dropped the pitcher in his hand and it shattered, spraying glass and water across the floor. His face was covered in shock and betrayal.


	8. Chapter 8

  
Despite the tears rolling down his face, Sam immediately bent down to start cleaning up the glass shards.   
  
"Don't know what's gotten in to me," he muttered. "I've got butter hands today."  
  
Strider gently slid Frodo off his lap. Crossing the room, he took Sam's hands in his own and shook the glass back onto the floor. "You'll cut yourself, Master Samwise. Let me take care of that." He lifted Sam up off the floor to keep him from cutting the soles of his feet and sat him in a chair across the room from Frodo.  
  
Sam sniffled and stared forlornly at Frodo, Frodo kept his gaze steadily on the ground, and Strider swept up the broken glass. He also ran a towel over the ground to sop up the tea.  
  
When the floor was clean, Strider dragged a man-sized chair into the room and sat down between Frodo and Sam.  
  
"We need to talk about this, or nothing is going to get solved."  
  
Frodo and Sam remained silent.  
  
"All right, then," Strider said, "I'll start. Sam, I want you to know that I did not come here with the intention of taking Frodo away from you."  
  
"Then why did you come?" Frodo asked, crestfallen.  
  
"Because I asked Merry to send for him!" Sam shouted, his tears finally coming to an end. "I thought you were dying!"  
  
"I am!"  
  
"You're not dying, Frodo. You're just confused," Strider cut in. "This sort of thing happens when one loses a child."  
  
"I'm not confused."  
  
"Well, with him here, you're certainly not getting any better," Sam growled.  
  
"Just, tell me," Frodo ground out. "Tell me, Strider, that you don't desire me, and I'll let you go on your way."  
  
For a long moment, Strider just looked between Sam and Frodo.  
  
"Tell him, Strider," Sam said, almost desperately. "Tell him you don't desire him."  
  
Finally, Strider's gaze settled on Sam's tear-stained face. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, Master Samwise."  
  
Sam's bottom lip quivered, but he did not cry. "All right, then," he said. "All right." He stood up and looked around the room. He took a step forward and a step back. Clearly, he had no idea what to do.  
  
"Sam," Frodo said softly.  
  
"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "I am going to pack my things, and I'll be gone. I have no business being here any longer."  
  
Frodo watched morosely as Sam skittered about the smial, gathering his belongings. He didn't have much--Frodo had all the necessities of a house.  
  
When his bag was packed, Sam gave Strider and Frodo one final teary-eyed smile and he was gone.   
  
"I do not think you should have done that," Strider said.  
  
"But don't you see?" Frodo asked, sliding off the bed. He crossed the room and took Strider's much larger hands in his own smaller ones. "Now we can be together. We don't have to worry about Sam. It's okay now."  
  
"Frodo, I am not what you have imagined. I am not going to come home for dinner every night like Sam. My life is hard and I live among the trees in the forest. That is not the life you want for yourself."  
  
"And who are you to presume to tell me what I want?" Frodo asked, drawing himself up to his full height. "Maybe I want to have an adventure! Maybe I want to live dangerously! And just maybe I want to get away from this blasted Hobbit hole and the blasted Hobbits I live with!"  
  
Strider pursed his lips. Although his better sense as telling him to keep Frodo as far away from his lifestyle as possible, he could not deny the desires of his heart.  
  
"Very well, Frodo, you may come with me."  
  
*  
  
 _One year later_  
  
"Frodo! Are you home?" Stride called, as he stepped into the cabin.  
  
"I'm here," Frodo said, stepping out from the bedroom. "I was just finishing up the wash."  
  
"I told you not to do that," Strider said, a pucker appearing between his eyebrows.  
  
"I had help," Frodo said. He finished folding one of Strider's shirts and set it on the table. He sat down heavily. In his eighth month of pregnancy, simple tasks had become increasingly difficult, but he was determined to do as much as he could.  
  
Still frowning, Strider pulled Frodo's feet into his lap. "Just promise me you're taking it easy. I don't want to see you lose this child."  
  
"You're only saying that because it's yours," Frodo said. He groaned in pleasure as Strider dug his thumbs into the sole of one of Frodo's feet. "My poor feet are so swollen lately."  
  
"They're certainly larger than normal, and that's saying something." He ran a hand through the hair on the top of Frodo's foot fondly. "Any bigger and fear you'll be unable to walk."  
  
"If _I_ get any bigger, I fear I'll be unable to walk!" Frodo chuckled. He rested his hands against his rounded belly, rubbing it gently. He'd gotten so big, he had to make due with wearing Strider's nightshirts, but he didn't mind.  
  
Their babe came on a warm summer night. A half-Hobbit lass with Strider's eyes and Frodo's nose. They named her Constance, and she was the most precious thing in their lives.


End file.
